


The Boys Keep Swinging, The Girls Keep Bringing

by lit_chick08



Series: The Only Crime is To Lose [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Organized Crime, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his death bed, they promised their father they'd avenge what has been done to their family.  The problem is, they might kill each other in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boys Keep Swinging, The Girls Keep Bringing

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this gif set](http://vixleonard.tumblr.com/post/36098978794/jaydeleau-modern-au-martells-there-aint-no) by [Jaydeleau](jaydeleau.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title comes from "Hit Rock Bottom" by The Dandy Warhols

Arianne's phone starts ringing at four in the morning. For a moment, she isn't sure what's going on; Ambien always makes her a little slow moving when she wakes and blurs the line between what's actually happening and what is just a sleep. She fumbles on the nightstand, wincing at the bright glare of the screen, and she does not bother looking at the ID before rasping, “Someone had better be dead.”

“Arianne?”

At the sound of Arys Oakheart's voice, Arianne finds herself wide awake, sitting straight up in bed. Arys knows better than to call her on her personal cell; any communication between them is always to be done on her burner phone. He's never made this mistake before and with good reason: the Lannisters will murder him if they find out he's talking to her.

She met Arys Oakheart by accident not long after Myrcella arrived in Miami. The Lannisters may have thrown away Cersei's only daughter, but they certainly weren't going to let her hole up with Arianne's family without monitoring the situation. Areo spotted him on the surveillance footage and arranged for him to be brought to Arianne's office; his handsome face was bleeding, obviously having put up a fight when Areo came for him, but his manners hadn't faltered once in Arianne's presence. He expressed genuine interest in Myrcella's welfare, explained he had been assigned to protect her since she was nine-years-old and volunteered to watch her. Arianne considered herself a good judge of character, and she could tell he was sincere; Arys Oakheart may have been a Lannister man, but he was good underneath it all. Their arrangement – Arianne provided reports for him to carry back to Tywin, Arys gave her information about their operation – was mutually beneficial in all the ways that mattered, and the few times he'd spent in her bed were certainly pleasant. The only problem with Arys Oakheart is his gentle heart; theirs isn't a world built for weakness, and Arys has too much of it.

“What the hell are you doing call me here? Have you lost your goddamned mind? Do not - “

“Did you order Jaime Lannister kidnapped?”

Arianne freezes. “What?”

“Jaime Lannister was kidnapped last night; a box just came to the penthouse with his hand inside and a ransom demand for three million dollars. Did you do this?”

Arianne is already out of bed, crossing to the closet and pulling out clothing even as she tries to fully understand what Arys is saying. If Jaime Lannister has been taken, Tywin is going to wage total and complete war on whoever did it, and she knows the Martells will be at the top of the suspect list. And what's worse is Arianne doesn't know if he'd be right to do so. Her cousins have been begging for the chance to get revenge for Oberyn's murder, and Quentyn, God, Quentyn has been damn near insufferable since their father finally passed six months earlier. The only one she knows without a doubt _didn't_ have a hand in this is Trystane, and that is only because it would require more effort than her hard partying brother would ever expend.

“Arys, slow down. When did this happen?”

He drops his voice, and Arianne wonders if he is hiding somewhere within the Lannister compound. “Jaime was coming back from a job in Jersey when he was ambushed. The men with him were killed, and Jaime was taken. They sent Cersei his hand an hour ago. Arianne, if this was you - “

“It _wasn't_ , and if it was someone in my family, I will take care of it. You call me _immediately_ if Tywin makes a move on us, understand?”

“Ari, please, you have to - “

“Don't call this number again,” she orders before ending the call, quickly tugging on a pair of jeans and a top. She pulls her thick, dark hair into a messy bun before hurrying down the hall to her office. Immediately she dials Areo's direct line and, as always, he answers on the first ring.

“I need you,” is all she says, and Areo arrives ten minutes later. Unlike Trystane, who insisted on spending a small fortune on a condo in a building downtown, and Quentyn, who hasn't had a permanent address since graduating high school, Arianne has never left the mansion they grew up in. In her father's will, it was left to all of them just as each were given equal shares in Sunspear and The Water Gardens; but Doran's decision to appoint Arianne CEO of Dornish Enterprises hadn't sat well with either of her brothers. Quentyn thought it should go to him as the oldest son, and Trystane, who always had a better head for _actual_ business rather than the family business, thought the honor should have gone to him. It is a constant struggle every day to manage their legitimate interest, their less than legitimate interest, and the sheer ridiculousness of her family.

Arianne loves her siblings and her cousins absolutely. Unlike her brothers, she remembers her Aunt Elia, remembers Rhaenys and Aegon, and more importantly she remembers her father and uncle after they were killed. Family is the most important thing in the world; if Doran Martell taught her any lesson, it is that. But while Arianne loves them, they are easily the most exhausting group of people she has ever known. And with Oberyn's murder, the restlessness within the family has only increased. The Lannisters have tread on them too many times; and her cousins especially were thirsty for blood. Taking Jaime Lannister's hand is something Arianne could easily imagine one of her cousins doing, but the ransom, that sounds far more like Trystane.

For a man of advancing age, Areo still cuts an imposing figure. When her mother came to America, Areo came with her, and while other men came and went, Areo had been at her father's side until the very end. Some of Arianne's earliest memories were of Areo standing at her father's back just as he now stands at hers, and sometimes she thinks the success of the Martell family is as important to him as it is to her.

“Where were my brothers yesterday?”

“Trystane was managing the nightclub and Quentyn spent most of the day in his hotel room; he only flew back into the country yesterday morning.”

Arianne nods. “And my cousins?”

“Sarella went back to Las Vegas, Tyene visited her mother, Nym and Obara were at the Water Gardens.”

“You're positive? They didn't go anywhere, didn't contact anyone out of the ordinary?”

“I can double check, but I didn't see anything suspicious. Has something happened?”

“Jaime Lannister was kidnapped late last night.” Arianne sighs, rubbing her face in exhaustion. “Is there any chance we are tied to this?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Looking up at him, she presses, “And how much do you trust your knowledge?”

“If someone within our organization is responsible, they hid it very well, and I will be happy to take my ax to them for it.”

To Arianne, Areo has always been the sweetest man, the one who would smile at her when she played in her father's office and call her his little princess. She has always dissociated that man with the one who uses a long ax to make her family's more violent points.

“This could bring war to our door,” she muses, suddenly feeling so much older than she is. “And if they come, I won't be able to hold my cousins back any longer.”

“War has come to the Martells' door dozens of times, and they always win. It won't be any different this time.”

“Everything is different this time.” Getting to her feet, Arianne moves to window, pushing back a curtain as the sky begins to lighten in the distance. “We only have one bargaining chip right now. We can't lose it, not until we know for sure what's going to happen.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Nothing for now. But if she tries to go, if Arys Oakheart comes for her...”

Areo nods before leaving Arianne alone in the room. She likes Myrcella Baratheon, has from the moment Trystane brought her to Miami. In some ways, it is almost like having a younger sister, someone to mentor and help to find her feet. Arianne doesn't want to make the poor girl a hostage.

But that doesn't mean she _won't_.

* * *

Quentyn didn't plan on staying in Miami long. When his father put Arianne in charge, Quentyn knew there was no place for him in Florida. From the moment he was born, he and Arianne have struggled with each other, with the hierarchy within the family; Quentyn has no desire to remain in a place where he will constantly be reminded of his father's lack of confidence in him. And that's what it was, no matter what Trystane told himself. Doran could have chosen any one of them to take his place when the cancer finally took him, and he chose Arianne. Quentyn isn't even sure why he's surprised. Arianne had always been their father's favorite, and Quentyn had always been the one who could never quite live up to the Martell standards. 

He fell into contract work. After college, Doran sent him to Oberyn to learn the casino business and instead Oberyn taught him how to kill. Oberyn said he'd be ideal for contract work; there was nothing memorable about Quentyn, nothing that drew the eye or stayed with people afterward. The first time Quentyn put a bullet in a man's head, he threw up all over his shoes. His uncle patted him on the back, gave him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and then told him the first one was always the hardest.

There is something oddly relaxing in killing another person. He doesn't do children or civilians, won't rape or torture; he does clean work and his targets never see him coming. Even Arianne can respect what he does. For all her bluster, she's never drawn blood; no, she leaves that to Areo and Gerold Dayne, that asshole who calls himself Darkstar. Quentyn remembers Arthur Dayne, knows Allyria Dayne well, and Gerold is the Dayne that isn't playing with a full deck. His sister is an idiot for keeping someone like Gerold around, and, as Quentyn leaves the meeting in Arianne's office about Jaime Lannister's kidnapping, it occurs to him that Gerold is the only brazen and stupid enough to do something like this.

Sometimes Quentyn thinks his mother had the right idea. The last time he saw Mellario, she was in the house his father bought for her back in India, the one she moved into after Doran sent him to Vegas. Quentyn knew his mother wanted all of them to be free of the Martell organization, wanted them to live ordinary lives where they were always safe. What Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch did to Elia and her children haunted his poor mother, and she used to beg his father to keep the business away from them. Mellario wanted them to be doctors and lawyers and teachers, and when it became obvious Doran harbored no such wishes, she went home. His mother never liked America, and in the decade since she left, Quentyn only ever saw her if he went back to India.

Quentyn always lies, tell his mother he's getting his doctorate in history so he can become a professor. He isn't certain she believes him; Quentyn isn't certain how much he cares. Quentyn loves his mother, but she left them. She left them and never looked back, and they all became what Mellario never wanted: liars and thieves and murderers.

Trystane is probably the best of them if only because so little attention was paid to him. He wasn't even alive during '82, and Doran's health began its slow decline when Trystane was still in grade school. Trystane is a playboy and flaky as hell, but he's good at making money; if their family ever went legit, Trystane would be okay. 

Quentyn wouldn't and neither would Arianne. It is in their blood now: the fighting, the bloodlust, the _hunger_ for revenge. His father made them promise to avenge Elia and Oberyn, and Quentyn is going to see it through even if it kills him. 

When his father was in hospice, so drugged up on pain medication he could scarcely remember his own name, Quentyn and his siblings took turns sitting with him. His father was never as dynamic as Oberyn, and the cancer had made him a shadow of his former self. Most days Quentyn sat and simply watched him sleep, wondering if today was the day his father would take his last breath. It was a few weeks before Doran finally succumbed that he gave Quentyn the only piece of truly usable ammunition in his power struggle with Arianne.

“They were supposed to marry,” Doran slurred, his tongue heavy from the Fentanyl the doctors used to try to manage his pain. “Arianne and Viserys...fire and blood...”

The rest was lost, slurred beyond comprehension, but Quentyn understood perfectly. Doran planned to wed Arianne to Viserys Targaryen, the last remaining Targaryen son. Quentyn knew Rhaella Targaryen took her remaining children to Europe right after the home invasion which killed his aunt and cousins, but no one knew for certain where they ended up. There were rumors they changed their names, changed their looks, disappeared entirely, but it took Quentyn less than two months of asking the right people to find out the truth.

His passport is a fake; Quentyn Martell is on watch lists, not to mention wanted in several countries. As he hands it to the TSA agent, he smiles as pleasantly as he can manage. It is going to be a long flight and the last thing he wants is to start his trip with a TSA pat down. He glides through, boarding the plane with ease; the old man beside him keeps eying him suspiciously, and Quentyn barely resists rolling his eyes. 

Turning his attention towards the window, Quentyn watches as they speed down the tarmac, leaving Miami behind. With a sigh, he rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes. It's an 11-hour flight and he wants to be rested when they arrive in Moscow.

* * *

Trystane has a headache. He's had it since this morning when Arianne summoned him like a dog to her office in Sunspear to discuss Jaime Lannister's kidnapping and partial dismemberment, and it has only gotten worse since the day has gone on. This isn't how he had planned on his day going. There's a property on South Beach he wanted to check out, drinks he wanted to have with the hot real estate agent, a new car he wanted to lease; Trystane had _plans_ , and now everything is a fucking mess. He isn't sure why he's surprised; things are always a fucking mess in this family.

Until Doran died, Trystane didn't have to be a part of this. His father was the kind of man who knew when to leave well enough alone, and, so long as Trystane was making money, he didn't feel the need to drag his youngest into the every day workings of the Martell organization. Trystane isn't stupid; he brings in millions every year from the nightclubs and other properties he invests in, but the big money, the money which kept them all firmly flush, came from the casino. The casino was not only a gigantic moneymaker but a perfect way of laundering money, and it never made sense to Trystane why Doran turned it over to Oberyn while he managed the Florida businesses. He used to beg his father to send him to Nevada, to let him learn the business end there, but instead he sent Quentyn. _Quentyn_ , who wouldn't know how to have fun if it bit him in the ass. Trystane wasn't interested in old grudges and taking over territories; life was short, especially in the Martell family, and he wanted to enjoy it while he could.

Getting his ass chewed out about Jaime Lannister and what it could mean was not a good fucking time. Like he would ever set up a kidnapping for a measly 3 million. That's penny ante to a guy like him, and Arianne would know that if she ever took the time to actually pay attention to what he was doing.

His condo is in a building he bought just after graduating from U of M, a building Arianne told him was a poor investment and his father said nothing about. It brought him a decent amount every month, and it was the first money Trystane made that was just _his_. Let Arianne and Quentyn battle it out for the next thirty years over who gets to play Tony Montana and dodge bullets from the Lannisters; Trystane doesn't want it.

But it doesn't seem like it matters because if there's one thing his siblings and cousins agree on, it's that war is coming and Trystane is going to get caught in it too.

Myrcella's condo is across the hall from his own. God, was his father pissed when he told him about that shit storm. Of all the girls in Punta Cana, he had to find Tywin Lannister's granddaughter and knock her up. He still remembers how broken she sounded when she called him that day in June two years earlier, and Trystane thinks just for that he'll always give Myrcella whatever she wants. She's a sweet kid, she really is, and Trystane thinks sometimes that she's the kind of girl he should settle down with when the time comes. Except, of course, that his sister would kill him because the only reason his father didn't immediately put Myrcella back on a plane to New York was Trystane's promise he would never touch her again. As a result, Myrcella is his only female friend, and he doesn't think twice about entering her condo to see if she has anything he can take for his headache.

Trystane registers the sight of Gerold Dayne sitting in the easy chair only a moment before he sees Myrcella curled up on the couch silently crying. One of her cheekbones is brightly bruised, a deep cut which likely requires stitches splitting the skin beneath her eye. When she sees him, she breathes, “Trys,” and he is so shocked, it takes him a moment to find his voice.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Gerold doesn't flinch from his tone, emotionless as ever. “Areo said I was to keep her here. She tried to leave.”

“So you hit her?”

Gerold shrugs.

Trystane moves to the couch, urging Myrcella to sit up. Now that he's closer, he can see just how bad her cheek is, and he knows it will scar something awful if she isn't treated soon. When he lightly cups her chin, Myrcella grasps his wrist as tightly as she can and hoarsely pleads, “Help me.”

Fury burns in his chest as he orders Gerold, “Leave.”

“No.”

“You can stand outside the goddamn door. We're on the fifteenth floor; it's not like she can fly down!”

Gerold does not move, not even registering Trystane has spoke, and it enrages the youngest Martell. He helps Myrcella to her feet, leading her towards the bedroom and, as Gerold finally rises, Trystane slams the door shut, locking the other man out. Myrcella's breath is hitching with each inhalation, and Trystane has no idea what he's supposed to do.

“What happened?”

“My uncle was kidnapped, and Tommen said I should come home because it wasn't safe here.” She gasps as she tries to catch her breath. “He said someone could come for me next, so I came home to pack a bag. Darkstar showed up when I was packing and I tried to run but - “

“Shhh,” he soothes as her voice breaks, tears coursing freely down her cheeks. He kisses her forehead but knows it's an empty gesture. Gerold Dayne didn't just show up at Myrcella's apartment on his own behalf. If he was sent, it was on Areo's say-so, and Areo did nothing without Arianne's approval. It is then he recognizes that Myrcella is a hostage now until Tywin Lannister makes his move.

“Let me go,” Myrcella whispers, her fingers twisting into his crisp white shirt. “I'll tell them you didn't do it. Just let me go.”

“Myrcella - “

“I don't want to die,” she states clearly, her green eyes big in her face. “I'm not an idiot; I know what happens when these things start. I don't want to die, Trystane.”

“You're not – No one is going to kill you,” he promises not knowing if it's true.

She pins him in place with an expression of such acute betrayal, Trystane has to look away. “Please don't let them do to me what they did to your aunt.”

The words are like a physical blow, and Trystane gets to his feet, pacing the carpet before fumbling his phone out of his pocket. He finds Arianne's number and hits send, his hands shaking with adrenaline. His head is pounding like a drum as he waits for Arianne to answer, as he watches Myrcella gingerly touch her face and wince. Trystane has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he knows this is not what his father would have wanted.

“Fucking Darkstar,” Trystane curses as the phone continues to ring.

Trystane does not want to be involved in this, does not want to be touched by this war and see firsthand how unfair and fucked up it all is. But one of his only friends is bruised and bleeding on the bed, terrified she's going to be raped and murdered, with a fucking psychopath standing outside her bedroom door and goddamn, he had plans today!

“Hello?”

“You need to send a doctor to Myrcella's place. Your fucking goon split open her face.”

“Oh no,” Arianne sighs. “Trystane - “

“And send Areo with him. I don't want this asshole here anymore.”

Trystane doesn't wait for a response. He ends the call and waits until he hears Areo and the doctor arrive. Only then does he unlock the door, and, as he steps out of Myrcella's room, he sees Areo standing in the living room. Though he wears a blazer, Trystane knows he's wearing a holster and gun, maybe even two, and it suddenly strikes him just how serious this all is.

“Dayne doesn't step foot in this place again.”

Areo nods instantly. There is a deference in his face Trystane hasn't seen before and he realizes why he recognizes it: it is the way Areo looked at his father, the way he looks at Arianne. He glances into the bedroom where Myrcella is flinching from the doctor's touch and sighs.

Trystane isn't sure what he thought war looked like, but it wasn't this.

His head is killing him.


End file.
